


Nevermore

by psychobabblers



Category: Justice League (2017)
Genre: Angst, Dark Superman, Dubious Consent, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Honestly not as dark as it sounds lol, Inspired by Injustice, M/M, Minor Character Death, Minor Clark Kent/Lois Lane, Physical Abuse, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-19
Updated: 2018-03-21
Packaged: 2019-02-16 21:06:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13062150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/psychobabblers/pseuds/psychobabblers
Summary: Superman is back and for awhile, Bruce has everything he’s always wanted. But the Mother Box has changed something in him, with dire consequences for the world. Now Batman must wage a desperate war to free humanity and himself - and maybe even Clark - from the iron fist of Superman.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Please read the warnings before you begin! I have also tagged for things that may apply to future chapters and will update accordingly.

The first time it happens, it’s after a difficult battle. Bruce had run support, as he is wont to do these days, and even with excellent intel and tactics, this new creature had almost beat the fledgling League into the ground.

After everyone else is gone, Bruce goes up to Clark. “Are you alright?” he asks, putting a hand on his shoulder. He’d seen Superman repeatedly battered against the ground before Cyborg had distracted the monster. Clark turns slowly and then he’s surging forward and kissing Bruce. There’s a brief moment of surprise before Bruce registers what’s happening and kisses him back and it’s messy and amazing and everything he’s always imagined and more.

“When things were looking shaky out there all I could think about was how badly I wanted to kiss you. I’ve never gotten to kiss you,” Clark says raggedly and Bruce doesn’t like the suffering in his eyes so he kisses him again.

They have sex in the shower, Clark an image of perfection on his knees, like sin brought to life with a wicked gleam in his eyes and water running in rivulets down his perfect body. Bruce doesn’t think he’s ever been this hard in his life.

He’s never had anything like this in his life.

Afterwards it seems as if nothing has changed, except Clark is more open, more happy, and actually, Bruce realizes with a start, everything has changed. Because he finally has someone in his life who understands him as an equal, a fellow crusader for justice. And Clark slowly unwinds to reveal his softer side, the awkward farmboy still inside, eyes wide at the wonders of the world. It’s all important to Bruce, every facet of Clark, from the stern face of Superman against criminals, to Clark’s sleepy expressions in the morning, to his face alight with passion.

They keep it a secret from the League for now, but their teammates notice some kind of shift, and they smirk and joke and tease and Clark just smiles enigmatically at their antics.

“You’re different now Kal,” Diana says one day when they are all at the Justice League headquarters. “I see a flame has kindled to life within you. Be wary that it does not burn you.”

Another time, it’s just the two of them, and Clark says out of the blue, “Do you ever think about how pointless it all is?”

“Hmm?” Bruce says, because Clark’s hand is running through his hair in a very distracting way.

“Take Gotham for instance,” Clark says. “The criminal underworld just goes through the revolving doors of prison and Arkham, but does anything ever change?”

Bruce flinches a little at that, the ugly truth that he had seen after years in the suit, that he did not know how to change. Clark doesn’t seem to notice, so engrossed is he in this idea. “The Justice League inspires hope,” Bruce says. 

“Yes,” Clark says. “I suppose it does.”

Once, Bruce dares to broach the subject of Lois.

“I lost you before Clark, and I have at least some blame in that,” Bruce says, holding up a hand to forestall Clark’s protests. They’ve worn down this path of conversation before and Bruce doesn’t want to tread it again just now. “I have you back now, and you know that I’m willing to have you any way you wish, as friends, as brothers in arms. As lovers.”

Clark shakes his head, looking pained. “I know loving you isn’t wrong. It can’t be wrong when you feel so right,” he says.

“Then tell her.”

“I can’t,” Clark says. “I don’t think she’ll understand. And I can’t lose her, Bruce. I can’t.”

“I understand,” Bruce says and doesn’t mention it again, even though it stings, even though he won’t really fully understand until much later, when it’s already too late.

* * *

Bruce comes back from patrol one night to find someone in the Cave waiting for him. It’s Clark. Bruce feels the welcome in him crumble into a sharp spike of dread.

Clark’s shoulders are hunched in and he looks like he’s been standing there for hours. He doesn’t speak as Bruce gets out of his armor, doesn’t comment on the string of new bruises and scrapes adorning his body.

“Are you alright?” Bruce finally asks, because he isn’t sure how long Clark is planning on standing there.

Clark looks up and Bruce is shocked at how wrecked he looks.

“Lois is dead,” he says, and those three words punch him hard enough to knock the breath out of him.

“Clark,” Bruce says, not know what else to say. His mind is whirling with questions and what ifs and what happens nows.

“She died and I was too busy fucking you to notice,” Clark says, something ugly that Bruce had never seen before in his eyes.

Bruce ignores the vicious twist in his gut at the words, shoves away the sudden hollowness in his being, and reaches out instead, wanting to offer some comfort. “Clark, I’m sorry, I—”

Clark hits him.

The force of the blow staggers Bruce backwards, and Clark hits him again, more strength in the blow this time, and Bruce goes flying. He stays down, half stunned and seeing stars, his heart hammering in his chest, an acrid taste of fear in his mouth.

Clark looks stricken. “God Bruce, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to.” He takes a half step forward, and then suddenly takes off.

Bruce waits a full minute, unmoving, until he’s sure that Clark isn’t coming back. Then he calls Alfred, because he probably has a concussion. Alfred’s lips purse at the sight of him, and for once he doesn’t have a snarky comment. His hands are gentle and cool on Bruce’s face though, and his eyes are sad.

Bruce searches “Lois Lane” on the Internet. The news is abuzz with how the journalist had been caught in the crossfire between rebels and government forces where she had been reporting on the struggle. There were two other casualties, and several wounded.

Three days go by without a single sighting of Superman or Clark, until one night when Bruce wakes to find him kneeling by his bed. There are tears on his face like diamonds in the moonlight and Bruce wordlessly reaches out again, brushing them away. This time Clark leans into the touch and his eyes close.

“I’m sorry, Bruce,” he says quietly. “I didn’t mean to do that. Will you forgive me?”

“Yes,” Bruce says, because he can’t say anything else. He breathes deeply to slow his spiking heart rate down because he knows Clark is able to hear it pounding.

Clark moves closer and he’s beautiful like this, hair mussed up and eyes gentle. There’s a sadness in him though that Bruce wants to take away, because someone such as Clark shouldn’t have to suffer such despair. He flips the covers back and waits.

Eventually Clark strips off his shirt and crawls into bed with him and his skin is like ice where usually he is solid and warm. Bruce rubs his chest and shoulders, feeling heat return under his fingers, feeling the life return. If Clark can see the bruises he gives no sign of it and Bruce focuses on keeping his breathing and heartbeat even.

Soon he feels Clark stiffening against him and he allows him to roll him over onto his stomach. He squeezes his eyes shut as Clark preps him with fingers that can’t decide whether to be rough or gentle. He’s silent when Clark pushes inside him, and now it’s okay to let his heart rate rise, because Clark would expect that. Clark is moaning as he hits the spot in him that makes him see stars. Bruce takes himself in one hand and jerks himself and it feels good as it always is, he’s fine, and then he’s coming with a groan.

When Clark comes, it’s not Bruce’s name on his lips.

But it’s still Bruce he curls up next to, Bruce he sobs his heart out to, Bruce he says “I love you” to before he drifts off. Bruce wonders if that’s enough. He waits until he’s sure Clark’s asleep before he gently brushes the panel just under the side of the bed to tell Alfred not to come up to his room in the morning. There’s no telling what kind of state Clark will be in when he wakes.

The next morning, Clark is gone. There’s a text from Dick when Bruce picks up his phone. “Did you know that Clark was planning to run for office?” it read.

Bruce didn’t send a reply. Instead, he scrolls through the news articles on his phone, all of which are screaming the same headlines: “SUPERMAN RUNS FOR PRESIDENT.” The front page of the Daily Planet particularly catches his eye. It’s Superman, floating slightly above the ground giving a press conference at the Superman memorial, eyes looking past the throng of reporters toward the distant horizon, burning with a righteous flame.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story came from the Justice League movie overturning an idea that’s been mostly true throughout Batman and Superman’s history, that Batman recognizes the danger that Superman could represent to the world. Having carried that idea to tragic fruition in Batman vs Superman, in Dawn of Justice Bruce was almost reverential of Superman, and I saw some interesting and dangerous potentials.


	2. Chapter 2

_Two years later_

Batman ran along the shadows, a black fox chased by the baying of hunting hounds. He had been investigating a lead when a lucky sweep of a police helicopter had happened to spot him. And then the chase had begun, same as usual every other week or so. Bruce could feel it sapping his energy, and every night he feared his step became a fraction slower, a fraction more unsure.

He couldn’t afford to slip up. People depended on him, from the fragile little underground resistance against Superman’s regime to Alfred and Dick. Somehow to the few scattered across the world who still held a spark of freedom in their hearts, Batman’s symbol had become their badge of hope. The irony always tasted a little bitter.

Finally he managed to shake them, Gotham’s winding alleyways never having failed him yet. He leaned against the grimy brick, hunched in the shadows as the lights and wailing sirens streaked by him overhead. As usual he had to resist the urge to lean his head against the wall, resist the tide of despair that threatened to rise within him.

Batman couldn’t afford despair or doubt, Batman didn’t do despair or doubt. Those feelings stemmed from Bruce Wayne, and there was no place for Bruce in Superman’s new world. Nothing Bruce would find acceptable, anyway.

Sometimes, he couldn’t even believe it had come to this in just two years. Superman had swept the American election of course, winning an astounding 96% of the popular vote despite technically not being qualified to run at all, and more electoral college votes than any candidate had ever dared to dream of before. The people loved him, it didn’t matter whether someone was conservative or not, feminist or not, religious or not — Superman transcended all of that. Congress didn’t dare oppose the bills he suggested. But he hadn’t been satisfied with that.

The rest of the world had fallen to his regime within a year of his starting his term as President.

Superman mostly left the governments intact to run themselves and intervened when he believed injustice was being done. Batman wondered if he were the only one who saw Superman’s slide into madness, as each transgression, major or not, he discovered seemed to lower his tolerance for corruption and the petty failings of humanity. He wondered if he was the only one who could see the rage always simmering beneath the surface of the man who had been his friend and lover, even when he smiled.

Once upon a time, Bruce had said to Alfred that Clark was more human than he was. He wished he could see even a spark of that humanity now. Superman was remote and cold as the stars.

After he was certain the police had passed, Batman made his way back to the safe house, their temporary base of operations. Everything was temporary now, had to be. Everything was mobile, ready to be packed up and moved at a moment’s notice.

He found Nightwing and Alfred watching the news. “Batman,” Nightwing greeted him somberly. “You’ve got to see this.”

On the screen interspersed with static Superman stood in a bombed out land with two men at his feet on their knees. It was the rebel leader and the dictator of the country Lois had died in. “Is this live?” Batman asked urgently.

“Yeah,” Nightwing replied.

Don’t do it Clark, the thought stumbled into his head unbidden. His heart felt like it had stopped and was beating faster at the same time.

“These men stand for violence, for destruction, for war,” Superman was saying. “These kind of men don’t care about the lives of others, and they have no value in this world. All they have to offer is pain.” He paused here, looking straight into the camera, and it might have been a trick of the camera or the bad quality of the screen but Batman thought he saw a glint of red. “These men stand for injustice.”

Batman felt his blood run cold at Superman’s words, the finality of them. He wanted to yell at the screen, wanted to rip Clark away from the nightmare, but he couldn’t because Clark was the source.

“There is no place for injustice in this world,” Superman declared. “There will only be justice, and peace. I hereby sentence these war criminals to death.” The camera jerked only slightly at the words as the cameraman took them in. “Does anyone wish to oppose?” There was only silence from the screen, dust in the wind. The men on the ground were trembling violently.

“No,” Batman heard Nightwing whisper. He was looking at him as if Batman had the power to stop what was about to happen, but there was nothing he could do. He clenched his fists.

Superman executed the two men with a sweep of heat vision and the bodies crumpled to the ground. The camera miraculously held steady.

The base is deadly silent as the people huddled within take in what had just happened. Then one by one they looked to him, eyes searching for answers. Batman just closed his eyes. He wasn’t supposed to be the root of hope. That role should always have been Clark’s. The man who had just executed two people without trial on live broadcast.

How had it come to this?

* * *

_2 months after the death of Lois Lane_

“Mr. Wayne,” Superman said blandly, holding out a hand for him to shake. “Thank you for holding this fundraiser.”

Bruce shook his hand limply, noting with satisfaction the distaste that flickered through Superman’s eyes. “Of course, Superman. And what an honor it is to have you here tonight as well.”

“Well I could never turn away a worthy cause,” Superman replied, face angled for the best possible camera angle. Not that it took much effort really. Bruce felt the familiar rise of unease within him and crushed it down again with an effort. It was natural that Superman would effortlessly capture the attention of every person in a room, that the media would follow him with adoring precision, that people would turn out by the millions to see him when he held rallies. It was within the realm of acceptable predictability that this would be the norm if Superman ever ran for office.

By the time he’d gathered his thoughts, Superman had already turned away to greet the next throng of people, smile up full wattage. Bruce was probably the only one who could see the hard line of tension in his shoulders, the ever simmering anger threading through his very frame.

After making sure enough donations had been pledged to the Children’s Memorial Hospital, Bruce slipped out early and headed down to the Cave to do some work. The fluttering of wings and the otherwise yawning silence was preferable to the sight of Superman with his warm smile and icy eyes, circling the room like a wolf.

“I thought I’d find you here,” Superman said. Bruce glanced at the clock and was surprised to find that it was very late and the party was probably over.

A whisper of cloth and Superman was floating over. No, Clark. He was Clark right now, with Clark’s sad eyes. “I missed you,” he said.

Bruce snorted.

Clark laughed a little. “I even missed your grumpiness.”

“Out there on the campaign trail you mean?” Bruce said before he could stop himself. Clark was the only person who could cause Bruce to say something impulsive.

Clark’s smile didn’t dim, as Bruce thought it might. “You disapprove,” he said, stating a fact.

“I’m not interfering,” Bruce said stiffly. He’d done that once already and done such a significant amount of harm that he would have to think very carefully about repeating the same assumptions. And if the people of America wanted to vote in their hero, who was he to think of trying to stop it?

“Well I’m glad of that, Bruce,” Clark said. He was in a good mood today. Some days even a comment like that would set him off. But Bruce couldn’t stop needling him. _Playing with fire_ , as Alfred called it. “But won’t you consider what I asked?”

Bruce resisted the urge to cross his arms. “I said no.”

A flicker of annoyance in that perfect face, so fleeting that Bruce wasn’t sure if he’d actually seen it. “Why do you do this, Bruce?” Clark asked. “Why do you hold fundraisers and run charities? I haven’t picked a running mate yet. We can win this election together. You know this. We can make things better, the way we want them to be.”

“You know that’s not how our government works,” Bruce drawled, aiming for sardonic. He had breathed evenly throughout this entire exchange, didn’t think his heartbeat had jumped even a fraction in response to Clark’s words.

“Come on Bruce,” Clark said, and then he was kneeling in front of him, pulling Bruce down for a kiss.

“We can make real change together. You and I,” Clark whispered.

“I thought we were,” Bruce said. “As the Justice League.”

This time, Bruce was certain of the anger that spasmed across Clark’s expression. “The Justice League,” Clark said flatly. “Where was the Justice League when that shop owner was murdered in front of his family in Gotham last week? Where was the Justice League when those children were kidnapped to become child soldiers in Somalia? Where was the Justice League when the rainforests were being cut down by the acre every day? Where was the Justice League when—” He broke off, as Bruce knew he would.

“The point is,” Clark said evenly. “The Justice League can’t do everything. They’re just a band aid, not a solution. Just look at Gotham, for instance.”

The words were meant to sting so Bruce let them pass, let them glance off him as he might let bullets glance off his armor.

This time, Bruce kissed Clark, licked into the hard set of his mouth. This time, Clark didn’t kiss back gently. But in a way, it was preferable to when Clark was soft on the surface earlier, but with the tense edge always hovering beneath the surface, ready to lash out. At least this way, Bruce could more accurately predict how Clark would react to each thing he did or said.

There was a brutal honesty to each harsh breath that Clark drew in, the grip bordering on vicious of his arm on Bruce’s shoulder. When Clark was like this, Bruce could still see the person behind the Superman mask, the human pain in Superman’s remote eyes. That distant look in Superman’s eyes these days chilled him to the core, far more than the little blade that slid into his heart and twisted every time Clark’s weight pressed him against the wall or into the bed with eyes splintered with grief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the angst continues whoops? x_x


	3. Chapter 3

The day after the execution Bruce went out as always. Recently Batman had begun operating at all times of the day. In Gotham Superman’s ratings weren’t quite as high as they were in the rest of the country. And in any case, Superman couldn’t be everywhere now that he’d decided to take on the trappings of power, and little things slipped through the cracks of his notice all the time. Gotham was still Gotham, even if an insane Superman was currently ruling the world. In the streets, in the suit, Bruce could feel the semblance of normalcy.

He couldn’t stop Superman’s words from ringing through his head though. _These men stand for injustice_. He wondered which side Superman considered Batman stood on. He didn’t really care to find out.

Superman was so powerful and influential that Batman would have despaired of fighting his regime, if he allowed himself the luxury of despair. He had fought him before and would do it again if he had to, even if it broke him inside to see Clark like this, consumed by Superman. Even if he could still see the man he loved in that terrifyingly remote face. Even if the eyes that had once looked at him with love now burned with flame to execute those who defied him.

The world hadn’t seemed to notice that Superman was off. It was endlessly frustrating, that people accepted that a person who was absolutely powerful would eventually want and deserve absolute power. Not Gotham though, Bruce acknowledged with a small swell of pride. And not the people all over the world in his fledgling resistance. Maybe the rest of the world would see as well, now that Superman had finally made a mistake in public. Or maybe by now the fear was already too much.

“Batman,” Dick’s voice crackled through.

“Nightwing, what is it?”

“There’s a situation on 5th Ave and 10th,” Dick said. “It looks bad. We’re on route but you’re closer.”

Bruce had started for the bike as soon as Dick called and he jumped on now. “On it. What’s the situation?”

“Protests,” Dick said grimly. Bruce would close his eyes if he weren’t zipping through the winding alleys as fast as he could. The few people on the streets dodged out of the way.

“I thought we put out an order not to respond.”

“Not everyone’s gonna listen Bruce!” Dick snapped. “Jeez that was _Superman_. Killing someone on live television! People are gonna react badly!” The sound of the Batmobile’s engines roared in the background.

“I know,” Bruce said flatly. “I should have planned for this.” And he should have. He was off his game. Seeing Clark—Superman—do that had affected him more than he’d thought. He couldn’t afford to make any more mistakes.

“Sorry, Batman,” Dick growled. “But I don’t see how you can act so cold about all this. He was your friend wasn’t he? At the very least your teammate!”

Not for the first time, Bruce wondered if he’d been right to keep his relationship with Clark a secret from Dick and the others. He’d always known that Alfred knew or suspected even if the man was harder to read than even the Batman. But still, this was not the time for this. They could hash out all of Bruce’s mistakes and regrets later.

“Nightwing,” Bruce said.

“Sorry Batman,” Dick said immediately, contrite, and Bruce felt the familiar swell of love for his son when he proved once again how _good_ he was, how much better he was than Bruce would ever be. “That was uncalled for. I know you deal with things in your own way. You close yet? I think things just got uglier. Some Superman Squad showed up.”

“Thought we were keeping tabs on the ones in Gotham,” Bruce grunted.

“Yeah, but we don’t exactly have the resources like we did before,” Dick said. He sounded a little defensive and Bruce felt a small twinge of guilt that he shoved away with the ease of practice.

“I’m on the scene,” Bruce said. He’d left the bike in some hidden corner and gone closer on foot via rooftop. There were dozens of angry Gothamites protesting at this point and more were joining in by the second. The members of the Superman Squad were standing to the side, ignoring and ignored, but carrying tranquilizer guns loosely at their sides. For now. Gotham didn’t bow to fear or tyranny. Some reporters were there as well.

What a mess. Some police were milling about as well, but Bruce knew that much of the police force was under Superman’s control. They weren’t going to de-escalate the situation.

Some more people joined the Superman Squad already there and then suddenly they were moving towards the protestors. The police exchanged glances and walked away. Technically the Superman Squad did have some sort of legal agreement of enforcement with every city. They were Superman’s private army of loyal volunteers.

“Stand down,” one of the Squad yelled into a megaphone. He seemed to be the leader. Possibly ex-military or ex-police. The protestors just yelled louder in response. The threat of violence crackled in the air. Bruce thought about whether to take the leader down from up close or afar.

Suddenly the roar of the Batmobile drowned out the crowd. Nightwing leapt out. “Come on guys, we’re all friends here,” he said with a placating grin.

The Superman Squad opened fire with their tranquilizer guns and Nightwing leapt out of the way as the crowd began to panic. Batman swung down to land in to kick down some of the Squad. Nightwing was running crowd control and Red Robin had climbed out of the Batmobile to help as well.

The Squad leader shouted for his men to grab Batman as he fired a round of actual bullets at Nightwing, who had bent at that moment to help a woman who’d fallen in the panic. He yelled in surprised pain.

“Get him out of here,” Bruce said tersely and saw Tim go for Dick. He took down more of the Squad as they began firing randomly into the crowd. The scene, already ragged with panic, dissolved into utter pandemonium. The Squad began lobbing gas canisters and Bruce felt the edge of his vision start to whiten and then darken. Damn Superman. He saw Tim manhandle a wild Dick into the Batmobile and veer wildly off as the rest of the Squad converged on him, heedless of his strikes.

Then the edges of darkness spread until he knew no more.

* * *

 When Bruce came to, the first thing he noticed was the pounding headache. What had they dosed him with? He tried to will away the awful pain in his head and take stock of his situation. He was bound on the floor with his wrists and ankles manacled and they had removed his armor and all the protections it brought him, though they had left the cowl on for whatever reason. Through bleary eyes he saw a number of people around him. The one who had shot Dick, the leader, was speaking into a handheld device.

“My lord Superman,” the man said respectfully. “We have captured Batman.” Despite himself, Bruce felt a thrill of fear.

“I know,” Superman’s clear voice came through the communicator. “I can hear his heartbeat.” _Finally, again_ , he didn’t say, but Bruce heard it anyway.

Bruce heard the murmur around the room at that, saw the sudden fear in the people’s eyes. They didn’t know that Superman had loved him, enough to always be listening for the pattern of his heartbeat in the back of his mind, enough to memorize the beat, the reassuring thumping. They probably thought that Superman listened to everyone at all times.

“What should we do with him?” one of the men asked.

“I’ll come to your location as soon as I’m available,” Superman said. “Hold him there and make sure he doesn’t escape.” The line clicked off.

“You heard him,” the leader said. “Put him in a holding cell.”

The thugs holding onto him obviously wanted to take no chances with the infamous Batman. There were heavy chains hanging from the ceiling in the cell. They attached them to his manacled wrists and cranked the chains taut. If he strained a little he could just barely hold himself up on his toes. Bruce grit his teeth a little, already feeling the strain on his weary muscles. Then they chained his feet to a ring on the ground.

“Are you sure that’s secure?” one of the guards asked nervously.

“You afraid of me?” Batman growled. And then he smiled slowly, enjoying the sudden uncertain fear in the man’s eyes. “Or _him_?”

He didn’t have to specify who he was talking about. The thug actually flinched, as if just a vague reference would bring Superman bursting in from the sky with his eyes red with flame.

He almost didn’t have time to brace himself as the leader of the group saw what was going on and swung his electrified baton. Jolts of electricity sparked through him, each blow more vicious than the last. He was getting way too old for this. His entire body was screaming in pain by the time the man decided Batman was subdued for the moment.

“If he moves, you shock him,” the man said, breath coming in harsh strokes. Fear gave his voice an edge. “If he speaks, you shock him.” He stalked up to the guard that had spoken before and grabbed the front of his shirt. “ _Superman_ is coming here. For him.” He nodded towards where Bruce was dangling. “I don’t want to think about what will happen if he manages to escape by the time Superman gets here.” He let go of the guard’s shirt. “Am I understood?”

“Yes sir,” the guard managed, looking terrified.

“Good,” the leader said. “If he tries anything else, start breaking bones. We can’t risk gassing him again.” The cell door clanged shut after him.

Bruce drew in shallow breaths, trying to figure out his next move. He’d been in worse situations before and gotten out, but in his younger days, he’d been, well, younger, and more recently he’d always had backup. Now when Superman arrived, it would be over for him. He had no way of predicting what Superman would do and that was a dangerous situation.

Superman could execute him on the spot, drag him before the media to humiliate him, torture him for all the rest of his secrets.

Fuck him right here in this cell. Bruce shuddered and one of the guards looked up briefly but didn’t put a hand on his weapon. Bruce allowed his body to go limp and unassuming, thinking furiously. He had to escape before Superman arrived.


	4. Chapter 4

Bruce shifted a little and heard the chains rattle above him. The guard didn’t move. He jerked a little more forcefully and felt a sting as the manacle scraped at his wrist. He had to escape — every second he waited meant Superman was closer to stepping through the door. In the back of his mind he wondered what the thugs had gassed him with, but for now he felt his mind starting to slide into panic, and there was nothing he could do about it. The next rattle caused the guard to finally look up.

“Hey, stop that,” he said.

Bruce struggled with the manacle again, barely hearing the guard.

“I said stop!” the guard said more forcefully. His hand went to the stun stick at his side.

Bruce met his eyes and saw fear in them.  
“You afraid of me, or him?” he asked, laughing. The guard actually took a step back.

“Neither,” he said. “I don’t need to fear Superman. I’m not a criminal, like you.”

“A few years ago I —” _loved him_ ”—fought at his side, today I’m a ‘criminal.’ It’s just a matter of perspective.”

“I wouldn’t fight him,” the guard said. “He stands for justice. He’s brought peace to the whole planet.”

Bruce shook his head and tried to jostle the manacle once again.

The guard stepped forward. “Stop or I’ll — ”

“Or you’ll what?” Bruce growled. “Hit me with your stick? Who do you think is gonna do worse. You? Or Superman?”

The guard stared at him for a moment in confusion and Bruce struck, yanking him down by hooking his foot on his leg. The surprised guard went sprawling, and Bruce slung the chain on his ankle over his neck, the give just enough so he could breathe, albeit with difficulty, just as the door clanged open and guards came pouring in. They froze at the situation.

“One more step and I’ll break his neck,” Bruce said quietly.

They turned to look at their leader, who just chuckled. “I know about you, Batman,” he said. “You don’t kill if you can help it. And even if you were inclined to make an exception, Superman is already aware of the situation. You could hold half my men hostage and I would never let you go. None of us will go against his orders. Just release him and save yourself the embarrassment.”

Bruce growled and pulled the chain a little more taut. The guard made frantic grabs at the chain as his air was cut off completely.

“Or kill him and show us the monster you really are.”

The guard was going to pass out soon. The leader of the Superman Squad wasn’t going to back down. He didn’t care about the life of a single man. Bruce growled and let the chain go slack and watched dully as the guard gasped desperately for air. Bruce stared at the leader, who smirked and pulled out his shock stick.

“I was gonna leave you well alone till Superman got here. But you obviously aren’t planning on playing nice.”

Bruce let himself slump as the man struck him with the shock stick, groaning as the electricity swept through him. He struck him again, and again. Bruce could feel darkness pressing in on all sides and the force of the blows faded. Through bleary eyes he saw the crowd part and Flash walking in and freezing in shock at the sight of him. He shut his eyes and even that felt like an effort. Dimly he heard Superman giving orders and despite everything, his voice rang like a clear bell in his mind, clearing away the fog and allowing him to drift off.

When he woke, there was sunlight pouring through the window and Superman was asleep in a chair next to his bed.

A flash of memory: Superman brushing a thumb over his cheek, so gently that it had burned. “Oh Bruce,” he said, and Bruce had felt like he was drowning in the grief in his eyes.

Now though, with the sunlight washing over them and Superman’s hair mussed up, Bruce could almost pretend that it was just like old times. If he ignored the manacles on his wrists and ankles that chained him to he bed, that is. He shifted so that the chains clanked slightly to wake Superman.

“Bruce,” Superman said, leaning forward. He didn’t try to loom, Bruce noticed. Possibly he was in a good mood. “It’s good to see you awake.”

_Rather than unconscious from the beating your thugs gave me?_ Bruce bit back the words and the anger that rose in him. There was no sense antagonizing Superman without a reason. “It’s good to see you too,” Bruce said, holding onto the part of him deep down that still loved and held out hope for Clark to lend his words honesty.

Superman seemed pleased. He reached over to hand him a cup of water, smile not dimming as Bruce lifted an arm heavy with chains to take the cup, and watched him silently as Bruce gulped down the water.

“There’s others who want to see you,” Superman said and Barry was at the bedside before he even finished speaking.

“Bruce! Glad to see you awake.”  
Bruce smiled slightly. “Good to see you too, Barry.”

Victor also stepped in, informing him that Arthur was away at Atlantis and Diana was also away. Superman smiled benignly from the wall where he’d stepped back to make space.

It felt like old times after a hard fight and the League would insist on hovering when he got injured. No doubt that was the image Superman wanted to convey. Bruce resigned himself to playing the part, for now.

When they left, even Superman, Bruce waited awhile before he picked the chains where they were attached to the bed. The manacles on his wrists proved too difficult to remove quickly, so Bruce left them on. He just wanted to step out for a moment and hopefully return before anyone noticed he was gone. He hadn’t noticed any cameras so he’d just have to hope for the best.

He walked quietly through the headquarters of the Justice League, until he heard Superman’s voice. The sound made him freeze, heart pounding painfully for a second before he realized it was coming from a TV. Barry always left the one in the common room on even when he was done watching. He peered through the doorway and stared at the image on the screen where he was smiling at something Barry had said.

“Here is your leader,” Superman said, gesturing at the photo of Bruce. “Safe and come to his senses. There is no reason to oppose justice any longer. Lay down your arms and join us in the new world. A world of peace and prosperity.”

“He is a good speaker,” Diana said and Bruce turned to see her leaning on the wall behind him.

“Diana,” Bruce said.

“It’s good to see you, Bruce,” she said with a small smile.

“Everyone keeps saying that to me,” Bruce grimaced. “And pretending they don’t see the shackles.” He lifted an arm and let it fall clanking back to his side.

Diana’s gaze didn’t waver. “You’ve been leading a fringe terrorist group against the world government for the past two years,” she said mildly.

“He’s changed,” Bruce said. “The Clark I knew would never even have considered holding power like this.”

“The people chose him,” Diana said. “He has followed their will and their laws.”

“Even in recent events?” Bruce shot back and Diana frowned.

“It is a warrior’s kind of justice,” she said.

“Clark was never a damn warrior,” Bruce snarled.

There was a long pause. “You were lovers,” Diana murmured. “Weren’t you?”

He didn’t respond. “I had wondered,” she said.

“He’s gone mad,” Bruce said. “And none of you see it.”

Diana laughed, a warm rich sound that Bruce had missed. “Has it ever crossed your mind that you might be wrong? I’ve lived in your world for so many years. I’ve observed so many evils. You were the one who said that we couldn’t live in the shadows and stand aside while people suffered. You said that we needed to step into the light. Kal is doing that. Why are you still fighting him?”

Bruce turned away, bruised muscles complaining at the movement. “He’s changed,” he repeated.

“Out of bed already, I see,” Superman’s voice came from behind him instead of Diana’s and Bruce froze for a second before turning around, slowly, willing his heartbeat to even out. From the corner of his eye he noticed Diana watching them, considering.

“What’s this?” Bruce asked Superman, pointing at the broadcast and allowing some anger to color his voice, because he would expect him to ask.

“Come on Bruce,” Superman said with a small smile. “You know it’s time for your insurrection to end.”

He sighed when Bruce didn’t reply. “You’re always so difficult. I’d almost forgotten the way we used to fight. I guess absence does makes the heart grow fonder.” He stepped forward and Bruce took an involuntary step back as Superman continued to advance.

“They’re not going to stop fighting you,” Bruce said quietly. “They don’t fight because of me. They fight because they want to be free.”

“Free,” Superman snapped. “Free to be crushed by petty warlords and violent regimes. Free to have their rights taken away on a whim by the government. Free to be forgotten as civilian casualties in senseless slaughter. Have they already forgotten what I liberated them from?”

“Tyranny in another form is still tyranny,” Bruce said and Superman growled under his breath, a spark of red in the depths of his eyes.

“Kal,” Diana said, a note of warning in her tone, but Superman didn’t seem to hear her.

Faster than Bruce could react, Superman slammed him into the wall so hard he saw stars.

“Kal-El!” Diana shouted and started forward.

“You think you know everything,” Superman snarled. “You think you are the only one who has known suffering.”

“I...don’t,” Bruce gasped. “Clark.”

The red abruptly vanished from Superman’s eyes and he released him and Bruce slid to the floor, coughing, a wary eye still on Superman.

“I’m sorry Bruce,” Superman said, and he sounded so much like Clark that for a moment Bruce’s heart ached. But then it passed, and Superman pulled himself up, expression remote as the stars. “Take him back to his room, Diana.”

Diana glanced between Bruce on the floor and Superman’s back as he walked away.

“Still think he’s the same old Clark?” Bruce asked wryly.

“This is not the first time he has attacked you,” Diana pointed out, though her eyes were troubled, and for a moment Bruce was stung by her flippant response until he remembered she was referring to the day they had brought Clark back to life and not the day Lois had died.

“Diana,” Bruce said but she held up a hand.

“Let’s get you back to your room,” she said. “I’ll have a doctor check on you.”

 


End file.
